The Diary of Girl Friday

Just like heaven, the road to the runway is paved with good intentions. Each step along the way was as unpredictable as the one before. I’m a planner by nature, but I could not have anticipated a story so filled with coincidence, karma, charm, and hope. I didn’t think about the colorful characters we’d meet or the crimes against fashion we’d witness. I had no idea I’d be searching for a hotel room the same weekend as the Los Angeles Marathon. I never thought I’d be sworn to secrecy. Here is a brief look at what our day looked like:

Saturday’s Itinerary

5:30 AM—Wake up.
7:30 AM—Drive to L.A.
9:30 AM—Arrive at casting call.
10 AM—Get in line.
11 AM—Move one foot.
12 PM—Get friendly with line partners.
1 PM—Recharge with another round of Starbucks. At $5 a cup, this stuff better be from magic coffee beans.
2 PM—Move one foot.
3 PM—Exchange portfolios with line people. Ooh and ah as needed.
3:30 PM—Wait patiently for producer to get through first round of cuts.
4 PM—Do Happy Dance! The Pink Fairy has the green light.
4:30 PM—Wait turn for producer to assess character.
4:45 PM—The Pink Fairy hits one out of the ballpark and gleans an exclusive invite…DOWNSTAIRS!!!
5:00 PM—Dismissed for the day and asked to come back the following morning.
5:30-7:30 PM—Whine, cry, laugh, eat, get lost, curse, make several illegal U-turns, arrive at hotel in once piece.
8:00-9:00 PM—Girl Friday takes the best shower EVER, while The Pink Fairy passes out from sheer exhaustion.

I’ll tell you all about Sunday (or what I legally can) tomorrow. Exhaustion must be catching!

Friday’s reunion with The Pink Fairy was immediately followed by a super swank dinner at McDonald’s. Now, before you judge me for suggesting such a frugal cuisine, let me say that I didn’t just pick any old McDonald’s. This particular establishment is decked out with 1960s-inspired décor, complete with chic and modern sofa, coffee table, and club chair, contrasting orange throw pillows, and Lucite light fixtures. I choose to think of this particular hamburger eatery as ModDonald’s!

After said fatty food consumption, we hit up the store for drinkage and miscellaneous junk food. A few drinks and shots later, we headed downtown to join the St. Patrick’s Day cheer. We channeled our alter egos, Trixee and Skittles, with a couple of (clear) screwdrivers and proceeded to obnoxiously rehash all four years of high school. The BF nursed a Guinness and tried not to hurl on my pointy shoes out of sheer disgust. His endurance to put up with my antics continues to amaze me! We staggered home and stayed up way past a decent hour.

I slept for three hours, and then crawled to the shower. Not even hot water could save me from this massive hangover. Technically I still had the alcohol coursing through my veins. I’m not entirely sure if that qualified it as a hangover, or if that, in fact, is the definition of being hung over. The only remedy I could think of was Starbucks (for me) and Pepto (for The Pink Fairy).

Propelled by the Go Power of caffeine, I drove to Los Angeles and managed to dodge concrete barriers and being cited for Driving While Delirious. I discovered my own version of “white knuckling” it and that I possess patience in spades.

And now, what you’ve all been waiting for:

Waiting in line for Project Runway was certainly an experience, and when I have more time (and more sleep) I will paint a very (loose) description of it. Damn those Non-Disclosure Agreements and Confidentiality Clauses!